


Something Precious

by Comp_Lady



Series: A Warlock in Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:30:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comp_Lady/pseuds/Comp_Lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maddox made beautiful things, and then he was made tranquil. Samson keeps the last beautiful thing close at all times, and then the Inquisition takes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Precious

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt from the kink meme: At the end of the Paper and Steel short story Maddox forges a steel bird from the leftovers from repairing Samson's sword.  
> Samson takes to wearing the bird on a necklace like a good luck charm. When the Inquisition captures him they take his things to make sure he's as harmless as he can be but Samson reacts badly when they try to take the necklace. First they think it's something dangerous but Dagna finds that it's exactly what it appears to be.  
> Samson begs to keep it because it's the last reminder he has of Maddox.  
> [(link)](dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13890.html?thread=56060482#t56060482)
> 
> ALSO: I wasn't sure what else to tag this as, any suggestions are welcome.

            It's odd, how bare his neck feels without the thin leather cord. Maddox's last bird had been the closest thing her had to a good luck charm. From the moment he had first laid eyes on it. Sitting next to his new armor, as if his thoughts from the night before had taken form and followed him into the morning.

            "Maddox, did you make this?" he'd asked. An obvious answer, no one else ever entered the tent for more than a moment, but it was one Samson needed.

            Maddox had glanced at the bird in Samson's hand, and then nodded. "Yes, there was a piece of leftover scrap from your sword. I did not wish to waste it."

            Samson had turned the little bird over in his hands. It was just like the paper ones Maddox made those years ago. A little bird made of Kirkwall steel. He'd kept it. Tied a length of thin leather around it and wore it through everything. Now that Maddox was gone it was his only reminder. A little steel bird to remember a friend made tranquil for daring to communicate with someone they love.

            And then the Inquisition _took it._

* * *

  _One set armor, red lyrium infused, handle with caution._

_One great sword, red lyrium infused, handle with caution._

_Three vials red lyrium (liquid), full, stoppered with wax and cork._

_One Dagger, plain steel._

_One necklace, steel bird pendant and leather cord. Possibly significant?_

            Mahoi Lavellan glances over to the soldiers that had brought Samson's gear to the Undercroft. The man hadn't had much of anything on him, and he didn't strike her as someone who would carry trinkets or good luck charms into battle. Report in hand she makes her way over to the pair of soldiers who have moved to the side as Dagna locked away the Red Lyrium.

            "Morsov, Dalhart," Mahoi waves away their salutes, "what is this about a necklace being significant?"

            "Well," Morsov starts, "he fought for it."

            Mahoi arches an eyebrow, "I was informed, by your report, mind you, that he was compliant when being stripped of his belongings."

            "He was."

            "You just said he fought for this."

            "Not physically," Dalhart assures.

            "He... well he begged, Inquisitor. He was perfectly compliant in handling over armor and the lyrium, but when we asked for the necklace..." Morsov shrugs. "He asked why we would take it, assured us it wasn't dangerous, that it was just a necklace, take the rest but leave the pendant."

            Dalhart picks up where Morsov left off, "he seemed desperate to keep it. Refused to remove it himself, kept a hand wrapped around the pendant. I had to take it off myself after his hands had been bound."

            "We though it may be dangerous, somehow, what with the way he went on about it."

            "I see, thank you, dismissed." The pair salute and Mahoi moves over to the workbench. All that's left of Samson's belongings are the dagger and steel bird, the only item's not tainted by red lyrium. Mahoi picks up the bird, tilting is carefully in examination. The leather cord is crossed under the bird and up between the wings in a knot. The edges are smooth and points filed down, the entire ting has a low glossy sheen, and Mahoi can tell that it's a solid piece of metal. Nothing for Samson to take apart.

            "Dagna," she calls, "what's your first take on this?"

            "On what?" Dagna asks, distracted by setting up a separate workspace for the red lyrium.

            "Samson's necklace or at least the pendant."

            Dagna makes a curious noise, dusting her hands against her pants. "Honestly? Not much, Inquisitor. It's a folded steel bird. Deceptively simple."

            "Deceptively?"

            "Yup," Dagna takes the bird from Mahoi, looking it over carefully."

            Mahoi hums, a short low sound in the back of her throat, a noise that Dagna has come to realize means that the Inquisitor wants to know _everything._

            So Dagna explains.

* * *

             Samson has been locked away for four days, by his count. The second had mostly been spent dealing with Cullen. A basic discussion about Samson's work under Corypheus, if several hours of snark could be called basic. He could still see the young boy that had arrived in Kirkwall, just a shade of the boy who jumped at shadows, but command seemed to suit him. Or maybe it was just the Inquisition. When Cullen left he said the said Inquisitor would be down to see him "soon".

            On the third night the Inquisitor didn't show, but a young dwarf who introduced herself as Arcanist Dagna did. She chattered on about how the Inquisitor was thinking that she could study him and oh, wait, that sounded ominous didn't it? I really didn't mean for it to sound ominous. It's just that his armor is _fascinating_ and that inquisitor thinks that any gained from him resistance to the corruption could be invaluable. Samson kept quiet until she left.

            Now it's the fourth day and no one has come down. The guard is silent, pacing the space every so often as is likely required. Dinner is brought in the evening, long after the final bell for meal. The food, Samson has noticed, is actually decent. It's still just scraps thrown in a tin plate, but it's more substantial. Certainly better tasting then he ever thought prison food would be.

            He is picking at what's left in the tin when the sound of footsteps on the stairs ring through the prison. Too light to be Cullen, and the dwarf's had been quick when coming down the steps. These are measured and purposeful.

            "So, finally come down to see ne, eh?" Samson asks, popping a piece of meat in his mouth.

            "Something like that," The Inquisitor says, leaning against the bars of his cell. "Would have been down sooner, but I needed to get some things checked out."

            "Like what?" Samson doesn't have to fake the disinterest in his voice.

            Eyes intent the Inquisitor smirks, and Samson's nerves jump on edge. She reaches into a pocket, eyes on Samson's face, "just this little thing that was found on your person."

            Samson almost knocks over his plate as he scrambles to his feet; there in her hand is Maddox's bird. The cord is wound between her fingers, the bird itself perched on their edge, ready to take flight at the slightest twitch. The bars of the door ring under his palms and he hears the shifting of the guard’s armor. Inquisitor Lavellan doesn't flinch, keeping her too intense green eyes on his face; she merely extends her arm out. Holding the bird arm's length away, out of his reach. Samson can't make a grab for the bird, not without having to grab at her arm, and he can see the guard shifting out of the corner of his eye. He grips the bars instead, knuckles going white, flicking his eyes between the Inquisitor's green ones and the steel bird in her hand.

            "Who made it?"

            "What?"

            "Who made it?" The Inquisitor looks to the bird, twirling is slowly between her fingers, tangling the cord further. "I had Dagna look it over-"

            Samson flexes his hands against the bars."

            "She said that whoever made this had a significant amount of skill. That it wouldn't have taken much to ruin it, according to Dagna. Just a little too much heat or one wrong hammer strike. So, I'm curious, who made it?"

            Samson sighs, eyes on the bird and ringing of phantom hammer strikes in his ears.

            The Inquisitor doesn't say anything further, just keeps twirling the bird in her hand; watching the emotions play over his face.

            "Maddox." His voice is nothing more than a whisper, he leans on the bars, suddenly feeling very heavy. "When he fixed my sword, left it sitting next to my armor."

            "Tranquil generally don't make anything ornamental, as far as I know. At least not without command."

            Samson drags a hand down his face, "I didn't- he said he didn't want to waste the metal."

            The Inquisitor makes a humming noise, and Samson sags against the bars. Weariness settling heavy into his bones. The Inquisitor is saying something, but he can't understand it, her voice fading into a murmur among the din of his own mind. He isn't sure how long he's been standing, slumped against the bars. He's jerked out of his reverie by a thin finger prodding at his shoulder.

            The Inquisitor's brow is arched high, the smirk back in place, but softer than before, "back in your head?"

            He grunts.

            The elf sighs, and rolls her eyes, before holding her hand out. The bird sits neatly in the palm of her hand, the cord pooled around it. He can only blink at the offering.

            "As I was saying, we had to check if it was dangerous. Enchanted or something hidden in a fold. Perfectly safe though, unless intend to do yourself in or take it apart to pick the lock."

            Samson can't help the tremor in his hand when he reaches through and plucks the little steel bird from her palm. Once his hand is back behind the bars she's gone, boot steps and "you could try building something yourself, Samson" echoing against the stone.

            Samson retreats back to his lumpy bedroll. The bird glints in the low light, sides worn smooth from the many times Samson has fidgeted with it. Turning is over and running his fingers along the wings as he went over battle plans and troop movements, over time he took to handling the pendant whenever he got lost in thought. How many times had he dragged his hand across his throat since it had been taken? Muscle memory searching for a leather cord that was no longer there. How much of the few days has he spent wondering at its fate? Positive that once they realized that it was harmless they would throw it out.

            And yet...

            And yet, Lavellan had come down here, stared him down, and returned the one possession he held precious.

            Samson slips the leather cord back around his neck, revels in the familiar weight of it. He idly strokes a thumb along the bird's neck as he picks at what is left of his dinner. Thinks of Maddox, who made beautiful things, and of building something from nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points if you caught the Mad Max: Fury Road reference.
> 
> [Hey! You can find me on Tumblr, come chat :D](http://comp-lady.tumblr.com)


End file.
